The Haunted Blue Cactus
Nana’s house is empty. It took days to reach this point and only the attic remains. Tomorrow, a new family will be moving in.
Boxes of memories litter the paved front yard. Waiting to be loaded. Full of photos, collectibles, candles, and jars of unidentifiable, but likely useful herbs, the crates are all that’s left of that ornery, old woman.
With a pang in her heart and sweat on her brow, Emily moves up the dilapidated, wooden stairs. The aroma of decay is nostalgic. The house was renovated many times, but no one besides Nana was ever allowed in this sacred space. Except, of course, her granddaughter.
The dank room smells like dust and mothballs. Light filters unevenly through the single window. There sits a sapphire-hued oddity, beautiful enough to elicit a gasp from the young woman.
A cactus. Deep blue, like a crown jewel.
The vibrant succulent, while gorgeous, isn’t surprising. Her grandmother’s love of botany and her prasinophobia — a fear of the color green — often led her to find or create many plants with bizarre features.
What catches her attention is the pot it’s in. Handmade, the pearl-white container is decorated with slate depictions of landscapes. Delicately painted…
